


Colorblind

by been away for ages (junhyunah)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Cake, Cutting, Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, also this was originally on aff as a got7 fic, cake hoodings, tbh some really fucked up shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junhyunah/pseuds/been%20away%20for%20ages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke is forced to face both his dangerous past and his dark future in the moments he looks in the mirror. He has not seen his reflection in years; and he is okay with that because he is convinced his heartbeat means he has survived.</p><p>(or Luke is selfish and enjoys watching Calum bleed for him from where he kneels on their bathroom floor.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Scale Isn't Fit For Advice

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for the following: eating disorders, self harm, degradation, emotional abuse, very, very minor physical violence. please read knowing that this story is based around eating disorders and completely off of personal experiences.

 It’s the throbbing aches and stinging pains that wake Luke. His small, strained hands reach up to dry his tear-sodden cheeks, turning himself onto his back as he quietly waits for his heart to slow its viciously heavy pounding.  
       The door to his left creaks open, light shining against the icy oak of his floor. Luke’s spine tightens as he straightens himself, red lined eyes stinging as he tries to pry them open. He can feel his heartbeat slow under clenching muscles. His throat tightens and he breathes out slowly, pushing the images of rain out of his mind as his burning eyes try to focus on the body leaning against the frame of his bedroom door.  
       “Luke? Are you awake?” The voice spreads irritation over Luke’s skin like a wildfire, and it shakes as though the world has slowed to match the lag of his own mind. They’d been doing this for weeks now. Ashton should know better.  
       He isn’t sure whether he spits a reply or not, as he gathers his strength, He stands on shaking legs, knees seeming ready to give as he tests his ankles wearily. His head pounds as he stumbles towards his door, an icy sting shocking his skin, calloused and well-worn feet trembling across the wood before he’s reaching blindly. Feeling with numb hands, he shakily grabs hold of what feels like denim, and he barely manages to grab the flannel shirt just beneath. As he looks around his cluttered room, he can feel tears burn the rims of his groggy eyes. Chest tightening, he breathes in, squeezing his eyes shut against the aches raking through his small frame.  
       He’s shaken back to reality as his foggy eyes finally focus on the stale lights pouring in from the hallway, throat tightening dangerously. Wandering through an endless hallways until he can’t seem to force his legs to carry him further, he sighs, opening his eyes. He nudges at the knob of his bathroom door that he can’t seem to grasp; and suddenly he’s falling in. His eyes snap shut as he feels cold tile press against his face, knees and elbows aching from the impact. His stomach churns as he bares himself, pulling off each layer of cloth that stick to his icy and damp skin. He’s barely gotten hold of the toilet seat before he feels his insides lurch, everything left from the previous nights breakdown surging upwards, pouring out over the hauntingly pristine bowl below him.   
       “Luke,” The soft voice is enough to throw his head into a fit of throbbing, sharp pains and it echoes in his ears like a whisper from behind, and he’s hunched over again, stomach empty but still clenching painfully, “Please.” A few knocks against the door pulse along with the blood rushing under his cold skin.  
       Tears run along his cheeks and acid still burns in his throat but he whimpers a soft reply, “Just give me a second.” After a deep breath, and a threatening clench, footsteps carry the other voice away.  
       Five agonizing minutes pass by before his muscles stop clenching long enough for Luke to drag himself off of the cold floor, a trembling hand on his stomach as he slowly stands with his back slightly hunched.   
       He doesn’t look in the mirror as he brushes his sensitive and worn down teeth one, two, three times. He doesn’t eye up the red lines, swollen and raised, that cover the surface of his thighs as he pulls up an old pair of jeans. His reddened eyes remain unfocused and fogged as he reaches up, wincing as his muscles pull tight. A wave of nausea hits the back of his throat and he stills, breathing deeply as shivers rack his spine for a moment. Jaw clenched tightly, he looks down, and continues to pull his shirt over his shoulders, the sleeves hang past his hands, reaching just below his waist. Thin, numbed fingers worn with acid and callouses slowly work through each of the small, white buttons, and he breathes through another wave of tremors before he can lift his head.  
       A white square, dirtied with age glares up at him. It’s a small piece of plastic, but it covers a world of nightmares that are working Luke's nerves up slowly, and his stomach and mind are thrown into frenzies as he wobbles, barely catching himself on the wall to his left. He tries again, barely lifting his leg high enough to step fully onto the scale. Red, swollen lips tremble as he reads the number aloud to himself and he can feel the nausea coming back.  
       “One hundred and one pounds.” His heart is aching behind the wall of goosebumps and rising bile. He knows it’s only his head messing with him but he swears he can feels his jeans, a size too large for his thin frame, tightening around his waist. When he looks down again, he feels empty.  
       “Luke!” The boy is shocked out of his stupor, and mechanically, he runs his fingers through his dirty, damp hair and picks his old clothes off of the tiles, before flushing his purge down the bowl, no longer clean and bright. Careful and calculated steps guide his heavy feet along a dark line that contrasts the pale blues in the rooms decor.   
       The hallway is a much less daunting venture as his eyes dart around, slowing to a near stop as he pushes aside a rough, warm hand trying to grasp his shoulder. He wisely avoids looking too far up or down, choosing to trail along the pale cream walls. He slides past Ashton, coming to a stop just in front of his rooms door. He hadn’t remembered closing it.  
       His small fist clutches the silver knob, twisting and turning. His numb, pale skin glides over the metal as he quickly becomes frustrated with how weak his body was becoming,  
       “Where are you going?” Luke sighed loudly, reaching up to rub his throbbing head before trying to grip the knob once again. This time he successfully wrenches the thin wooden door open, and stumbles in, legs nearly collapsing as anxiety strikes through his chest. Quickly he digs his feet into his pair of old socks and through eyes now brimming with tears, he searches for his bag.   
       Shaking hands grip the strap of what closely resembles his school bag, and he leans over. His muscles ache as he heaves the light bag over his bruised shoulders.   
       Nearly half an hour passes before Luke slowly realizes that he’s still standing in the middle of his dark bedroom; he can still smell his purge on his skin, and the number one hundred and one is still echoing in his ears, but he’s being pulled towards the door by some part of his subconscious that he doesn’t care to acknowledge. He’s hesitating, feeling his stomach rise and his nerves fringing, but he uses both hands to hold his weight against the walls as he reaches the front door. A pair of sneakers full of memories and dusted with dirt are slipped onto his feet, and two small hands are reaching up to twist the large knob. Once he realizes that his own body was moving ahead of his mind, Luke drags the heavy door open enough to slip out and it slams shut behind him.       
       His vision blurs as the sound resonates through his body and he’s suddenly stumbling down three concrete stairs and onto a pale sidewalk. The walk to his bus stop that sits a mere two blocks away only takes four minutes.   
       He is sweating nine steps in, and by the time his feet take the thirteenth step, he can’t breathe. He turns around and walks back to his front porch.  
       “The bus was late...I-I missed it… The bus…” Excuses are already flowing from lips, stripped and sore, but the anxiety of facing Ashton without the biting irritation under his skin is worse than facing the stares of the passengers that endure that same ride as he does almost every morning. Cautiously, Luke turns back, counting each step as the yellow stop comes into sight. Limbs still shake as they carry him, but despite his throat closing and the way his slim legs tremble underneath him, he knows he’s being stupid. He can hear the bus coming around the corner, so he rushes his already straining muscles and he barely makes it to the small stop before the bus passes.   
       The driver flashes a sympathetic smile as he nearly loses his footing stepping up onto the bus. The effect is almost immediate.   
       Luke could feel the other passengers' eyes all over him. As if they know, as if they can smell his purge and can feel his cramped muscles, his empty stomach. He wouldn't consider himself paranoid, but he wouldn't be so hesitant to admit that it was a terrifying and entirely horrifying experience, to be exposed as he felt. He quickly scans his bus card, shakily steps down the aisle and drops into the first open seat, just across from the back door. A quick escape. Looking down into his lap, he slips on his headphones, but plays no music. He can feel his shirt hanging off of his body, and his jeans hug his calves tightly, though they barely hold his waist. His skin burns where the sensitive slashes are rubbed by the harsh denim covering his thighs and he focuses on watching the streets as the bus moves on.  
       There wasn't much to see, it was the same gray sheet hanging over the same unfortunate people, and houses that have held the same stories for as long as he could remember. He could feel his hands twitch; someone was watching him. There was a heavy, heated tingle crawling up his spine and he was absolutely sure there was somebody staring him down. It wasn't exactly rare. People often stared at his large eyes and slim legs.   
       Glancing to his right, then his left, Luke slowly turned his head to look out the window across from him. He could feel his stomach twisting all over again at the thought of making unnecessary eye contact with a stranger, but he ignored it.   
       As soon as he locked onto the window, he noticed. Another boy, seemingly similar in age, was watching him. His eyes darkened as they met with Luke's, but neither looked away. Shock spread through Luke's limbs, running like burning ice just under his skin. The eyes roamed over what they could see of Luke's body: prominent collarbones that threatened to snap under the weight of translucent skin, strong shoulders bent and bowed from the weight of reality, and large, fearful eyes that searched surroundings carefully.  
       What sent the shivers down Luke's spine was not the look that lingered in the heavy eyes, it was the familiarity. Luke felt a surge of anxiety seize him, and he snapped his eyes back to his window as his tired lungs tried to breathe.   
       The eyes never left him.


	2. Don't Let Me Drown

       Luke could feel his skin burning all over and it took every ounce of strength he had left to keep from scratching the layers of stretched ivory away.  
       The eyes were unashamed of being caught, searing Luke's flesh and it felt like he was suffocating. His throat was closing every time he tried to breathe in and when the bus jerked around a corner he choked, coughs racking his thin frame and luring the stares of strangers Luke himself could no longer see.  
       When Luke opens his own eyes, he expects to see rain. He feels cold, he can feel the water hitting his skin, but he is overwhelmed by a sense of warmth and he shouldn't be alright with this.  
       "Luke," The voice that keeps him up at night is ringing in his ears and Luke tries to stay as still as possible because he's convinced that none of this is real and it's all Jackson's fault. "...Luke?"  
       The warmth is next to him, leaning heavily onto his shoulder and he wants to scream because more than just his bruised shoulder is hurting.  
       "Calum..." Luke's ears are perked as if he ever believed what he'd heard before and his eyes are searching almost desperately but he can't move his neck. The muscles are straining and he starts to wonder if this is what drowning feels like.  
       "What's happened to you this time?"   
       It's not the words that break him this time. It's not the voice.  
       It's the rain.

       Luke's arms are littered with goosebumps and he's struggling to raise his hand, something rough and -hot- against his palm, lifting.  
       For a moment, he thinks, he was almost worried his bones would cut Calum's hand with the way they stuck from his wrist. It's a shame they're buried so deep. He doesn't think he'd mind seeing Calum bleed for him.  
       Calum has bled for him too many times. Luke knows he would bleed again.  
       This is not what Calum is thinking about.   
       Luke watches the way Calum's hands twitch, moving closer to his face in order to be seen. The strain of sitting straight, of looking ahead and trying to breathe gently against his acid-worn throat - it's getting to him.   
       Luke has forgotten what he's been told. He hears the wind blowing around him and the sound of falling rain is drowning everything out. He shivers as something burns a line down the middle of the back.   
       He’s searching and searching and he can feel his eyes moving but all he sees is rain and it’s so cold it hurts, Calum-  
       Luke’s lungs are filling up with water, he’s sinking - this is real, it’s too real for him to handle and he doesn’t know what’s going on.  
       Calum, help me, please- it’s happening again-  
       "Luke. Open your eyes." Ice is forming beneath his ribs and the shards protrude from his skin and he feels like he’s burning beneath the surface of the ocean and this is it.  
      This was never supposed to happen. Ashton promised he’d never see the rain again.  
   
         Heat is surrounding him and Luke’s eyes open as he feels his stomach churn. The rain is falling all around him but he can’t see past the hazy, blurred windows and he feels a groan tear from his throat when his body is suddenly tossed into churning waters.  
         He’s no longer standing in the dark streets with the man he never trusted, he is drowning.   
        There’s a brightness that envelopes him within his ocean that almost captivates Luke within his bottomless rain. It’s warm and it pulses along with the waves he drifts along and it’s comforting.   
        "You really need to take care of yourself…"   
       Words don't leave Luke's lips but he's trying to speak and Calum seems to notice. The lights Luke feels get stronger and stronger and the warmth is overwhelming. The sound of waves crashing over him is fading into static and he's never felt so relieved to hear the sound of someone's breath against his ear.  
       There's a soft flame brushing his cheek and his eyes finally fall open.  
       Luke never fantasized about Calum returning. He'd never allowed himself to entertain the thought. He can't help but wish it was at least less embarrassing than a panic attack on public transit.  
       He vaguely realizes he's sitting in the younger boys lap in the middle of the sidewalk.   
       "Calum." He hums, wincing as the name scratches its way up his throat.   
       He wants to get up, he wants his legs to just move already but it's become clear to him that unless Calum can pick him up, Luke won't be getting up at all.   
       "I don't want to be here, Calum." Luke's heartbeat is picking up and the waves aren't washing around him anymore and he's never been sure how to confront the wind on his own when the rain stops falling.  
       "We're not moving until you calm down. You're barely breathing." Calum's hands are the flames that are burning Luke's skin, and it truly hurts but they're anchors that keep him from running away and he knows it's best that he listens to Calum.   
       Calum always knows what to do, always knows how to make things better. Luke knows better than to disobey him.  
       There's a throbbing pain that builds along Luke's spine, and the way Calum's hands run along his back is only making it worse, so Luke attempts moving again.   
       He regrets it.   
       "I told you, we're not going anywhere, Luke."   
    


	3. "You're Sick."

"Luke, you're ba-" Calum's eyes cut the words from Michael's throat before they could reach Luke's ears.  
Luke's eyes tried to follow Calum as he walked towards the hallway, looking much too dark for Luke. The longer he looked down the hall the more it seemed to rock, twisting from sided to side. Luke huffed, hand reaching out but legs too heavy to hold.  
The ground was much colder against Luke's skin after Calum's flames danced along the pale flesh. He let himself remember the heat and Luke was beginning to regret letting Calum near him, but the hands suddenly grabbing and pulling at him forced him to forgive himself for a single moment.  
"Don't touch him. He'll get up on his own." Even the sound of Calum's voice, stern and unwavering, lit the flames across Luke's body. Michael's hands didn't stop pulling.  
"What? What do you mean he'll get up, he can barely breathe on his own!" Michael's voice was loud and sharp against Luke's ears and he felt needles crawling against his throat as he whined. Aches were settling deep into his bones and he felt if he was shaking any harder his bones would start to rattle.  
Sharp angles roughly racked against smooth skin and harsh denim as Luke lay against cold wood, trying to find Calum. Calum is waiting, Luke thinks, he's waiting for him to get up but he can't-

"Luke, we're not playing this game. Get up."  
It's the voice that haunts him and soothes him to sleep at night but now it's only pulling his stomach to his throat.  
There are hands on him and the room is shifting and spinning and Luke can no longer feel his legs when Michael finally pulls him up, and a feeling of anger builds in his stomach. Luke knows he could have gotten up on his own, he knows it. He doesn't want it and sometimes he wonders what it would feel like to admit that he's human, but Luke knows he doesn't need help.  
"Michael. Why do you help him?" Heavy hands are gripping Luke's arms, and like a child, he feels guilt and shame rising in his cheeks when he tries to step forward but can't seem to find forward. "You can't fix what isn't broken."  
There's breath against his neck and Luke vaguely realizes there's sweat dripping down his neck.  
"You're sick, just like him." The room was slowing down, not settling but stable enough for Luke to determine left from right. He tested his legs, once he could feel one he moved it forward. The pain of denim scratching against the nearly fresh wounds covering his thighs ignited, and the feeling was spreading down from thigh to knee to ankle. A hard corner soon rammed into Luke's hip as he made his way away from Michael. His eyes didn't dare to wander towards the hallway, knowing he would only lose it again.  
"Consciously making decisions that you happen to believe are 'bad' does not make me sick."  
"You're obviously not any good for him..." A laugh echoed between Luke's ears as Calum's figure returned from the hallway. The weight of his eyes settled on Luke's bowed shoulders and he was compelled to move towards the younger. His feet were getting heavier and no longer could Luke lift them, but Calum slid a burning arm beneath Luke's arm to steady him.  
The effect of the others touch was nearly instant, and, had Luke not been coherent enough to process his surroundings he would have believed a flame was wrapping his skin tightly.  
"And who are you to make those decisions? How many times have you tried to force him into things he didn't want? How many times did you succeed?"  
Luke knows Calum hadn't meant to bring those back, memories he had forgotten about in his stupor, but they ripped through him.  
He knows Calum didn't mean it, he would never do that to him.  
"Luke, you told him?" He should have felt pressured, should have been scared, but he was too busy trying to breathe through the flames searing his side where Calum was holding him. Luke's head falls, and as can see his bare feet, a drop of sweat falls from his chin and he starts to wonder where his shoes are.  
Flames touch his chin and carefully lift his head to see eyes that want his answer. He looks to his left, then his right. He can feel sweat rolling down his neck, and thinks his hair must be damp by now.

The flames that carry him away from Michael are no longer painful. They are no longer searing, they do not burn like they used to. They are comforting and warm, his skin no longer dripping but soaking up the heat he's being wrapped in. His eyes are shut tightly and his head is rattling against something hard and his body is being jostled about. Luke cannot find the ground, he doesn't know how to tell which way is up and which is down but he is too warm to care.  
"Why did you stay with him?" Calum's voice echoes in Luke's head for a moment while he tries to think, tries to absorb anything from that question but he's not sure he can.  
"I.." Luke makes the mistake of trying to open his eyes, and the bright light around them mixed with vivid greens and blues churn his stomach violently.  
"You didn't want to leave?" Luke was not sure what was happening but he knew he wanted nothing to do the loud, anxious boy from the house Calum had carried him out of.  
"I missed you." For a little while, Luke wonders where the words came from, but he realizes that the burn from his own throat must have meant they were his own.  
They were a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i'm adapting this from a got7 fic and the original members I worte this for are Mark (=Luke) and Jaebum (=Calum) so if you see the names mark or jaebum, please let me know so I can switch them omg


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